STOLEN (22 page)

They
were still five minutes away and Jean still hadn’t been able to get Marty on
the phone, so she called his home instead. The phone rang five times and Jean
was about to hang up when Hope finally picked it up. By the way Hope was
talking, it was pretty obvious to Jean that Marty wasn’t aware yet of the
danger that was happening in his own home.

When the phone disconnected, Jean turned to Kathy, who had
been listening.

“Shit. Try Marty’s phone again. Dammit, Marty, pick up!” She
muttered aloud, as Kathy punched in Marty’s cell number. This time the phone
stopped ringing and it didn’t go to voicemail. This time a successful
connection was made and instead of a recording, she got the real thing.

 “Hey, Jean,” Marty answered. “I’m right in the middle of
some—”

She interrupted him. “Marty, you need to listen.” She tried
to choose her words carefully. She didn’t want to panic the man, but she knew
that there was no way to minimize the consequences of what she was about to
tell him.

“We’ve got a serious situation over at your house. I just
got off the phone with Hope; and I believe our suspect is in your home, right
now.”

She heard a strange noise and suspected it was the air
escaping from Marty’s lungs—and then nothing.

The silence at the other end seemed to go on for a long
time, but it was barely three seconds before he responded. His demeanor was
cool and cautious, but she was skeptical that he would react accordingly.

“Are you sure, Jean? I’m fifty yards away. Fill me in.”

He punched in the speaker icon and he quietly walked toward
the front of the Kolakowski home and opened up the front door. He walked a few
feet down the front path, just enough to be able to get a visual of his own
home. He could see Hope’s red Toyota parked in the driveway. From the angle he
was standing, he wasn’t able to see anything else, but he did feel the pumping
of his heart increase in velocity. Then, a short distance away, he recognized
the familiar figure of Jean’s daughter, Bethany, briskly walking towards him.

The minute the teenage girl caught sight of her mother’s partner,
she stopped walking and broke into a run. When she reached Marty, he grabbed
ahold of her and immediately led her to safety, off the sidewalk and into the
house while she relayed the same story to him she had told her mother.

For the next three minutes, Jean filled her partner in on
whatever knowledge she obtained, and relayed the cryptic message that Hope had
supplied her with. When Jean would ask a question, Hope was sharp enough to
answer with a yes or no, but added some superficial answers, trying to keep
Blakey in the dark. When Jean asked her if Blakey was armed, Hope’s answer was
‘yes, I’m fine.’ When she asked if anyone was hurt or needed medical care, Hope
replied by saying, ‘no, I’ve just been very busy trying to get everyone settled
in.’

She explained to Marty a call for backup had already gone
out. Before she even finished her last sentence, she slammed on the brakes as
she came to a screeching stop in the driveway of the Kolakowski home.

The minute she entered the house, she caught sight of
Bethany and grabbed ahold of her and hugged her tightly to her chest.

“Kathy is outside waiting for you, she’s going to take you
home.” She began to nudge her daughter towards the door.

“No, Mom, Dylan’s in there, I don’t want to go.” Bethany
protested.

“Don’t argue with me, Bethany, I have enough to worry about
without having to worry about you. You’re going home.” She led her outside and
towards the waiting car.

“Mommy, please” she cried. “Let me stay.”

“Bethany, please, I promise you Dylan will be fine. I’ll
make sure of that.” She wiped away a tear from her daughter’s cheek. “Please. I
do not need to be distracted worrying about you. There is a man over there with
a gun, and he has already shot and killed one man. I need to know you’re out of
the line of fire. I need to focus on that to get them out safe.” She ran her
hand down the length of Bethany’s long blonde hair and gently pushed her into
the officer’s patrol car. As soon as it took off, she went back into the
Kolakowski home.

He began to chew on the fingers on his left hand and then
heard the voice of the old man as clear as if he was right there in the room
with them. ‘Get your fingers out of your mouth! What are you, a baby? Sucking
your thumb?’ He shuddered as he drove the vision from his mind. He looked down
at his now empty plate.

The Lasagna was good; so good, he felt as if he may have
eaten too much. He had been living on takeout and junk food for the past week;
and except for that meal he ate at the pub the day after Troy got shot, it had
been a while since he had eaten something substantial. He noticed that no one
else, except for him, seemed to have much of an appetite. After a bit of
cajoling, he managed to convince Tristan to take a few bites; but the other
three just sat there staring at him. For a brief moment, he was suspicious that
maybe the broad had poisoned the food; but it was all in one casserole dish, so
he ruled that out. Even the iced tea beverage was in a large pitcher, so there
was no way they could poison him without getting ill themselves. He was tired.
The upper lid of his left eye was beginning to droop; he could actually feel it
happen. He hated when it the eye droop became obvious, because even he thought
it gave him a more sinister appearance. And then there was the noise. The sound
of the old man’s voice seemed to be everywhere. Shane closed both eyes hoping
it would help to shut it out.

He didn’t want anyone to think he was getting tired or he
was losing the fight against fatigue. He couldn’t take that chance. And now,
this kid had to stick his nose in something that was none of his damn business
and it all got so much more complicated. He needed to talk to Troy. He needed
his brother to tell him what to do. He needed to figure out how to get out of
this mess he was in.

Hope
stood up and began to clear away the dishes, hoping the activity wouldn’t cause
the stranger to become any more agitated than he already was. She didn’t want
him to feel her own fear, so she made a point of keeping eye contact whenever she
could. She began to notice a slow change, as his left eye appeared to have
difficulty remaining open. It gave Hope the impression he was getting weary and
perhaps sleepy. She watched as the man’s left blue pupil appeared to drift
towards the outer corner, as if he had completely lost muscle control of that
eye.

She knew by now Marty must be aware something was terribly
wrong, and she wasn’t sure if she was comforted or bothered by that. She
glanced over at Dylan who was seated across from the Captain. The dark-haired,
blue-eyed teenager had his long legs stretched out under the table, each hand
tensed into a fist angrily rubbing his jeans against his thighs. His eyes never
drifted, never left the man with the gun, and it worried her that the man was
not happy about it. She didn’t know the boy well, but her years of working with
troubled youth gave her some insight into his expression. The kid was seething
and she didn’t know enough about the boy to predict how he was going to react.
The only thing she knew about Dylan Silver was what she surmised from Jean’s
attitude towards him; and Jean herself was ambivalent about the kid. According
to Jean, the boy was quiet, often very sullen, but well-behaved and respectful
towards adults. He was a leader among his peers, and Jean’s daughter idolized
him. But Jean confessed to Hope, she felt the kid was troubled and may be a
ticking time bomb. The uncertainty of how the boy was actually capable of
reacting gave her the courage to be proactive.

She turned to her captor.

“Would it be okay if Dylan helps me clear the table?”

Shane nodded. “Yeah, help her, kid. Just don’t do anything
stupid.” He glared at Dylan. “Did you hear me?”

“Yeah, I heard you.” The teenager pushed his chair out from
under the table using the heels of his boots and stood up. Without another
word, he went around the table picking up dishes.

When Dylan brought the dishes to her at the sink, she took
the opportunity to speak to him.

“Dylan, I need you to remain calm and not do anything to
upset this man. Okay?”

He took a few seconds to consider an answer. “I understand,
Dr. Rubin. I know if I lose my cool, I could be putting everyone in danger. I
don’t want to, but I promise I won’t do anything stupid to piss this guy off.”
He grabbed the dishtowel and began to dry off the few dishes she managed to
wash.

“But Dr. Rubin, if you give me the opportunity, I will try
to get you guys out of here safely.”

She smiled. Had to give the kid credit.

The teenager was conscious of the fact that any move he
might make could endanger the lives of all of them, and he was determined not
to put any of them at risk. Hope was grateful the teenager was mature enough
not to try and show any delusional bravado and try and engage Shane in any
confrontation. Hope didn’t know for sure just how unstable the man was, or what
he was capable of, but what she did know was that he was sweating and nervous
and in the possession of a deadly weapon.

Tristan began to fidget, and when he caught Shane’s eye, the
little boy pointed to the television set off in the den.

“You know how to work that thing, Tris?” Shane asked,
overwhelmed by the size of the complicated looking electronic device. At home,
they still had a tube television set with an outside antenna.

Tristan nodded his head, curls bobbing up and down.

“Okay, go.” He looked at Hope, “You have kids’ channels
here? None of the adult stuff?”

Surprised, but grateful the man asked the question, Hope
told him, “yes, of course.”

Shane then turned his attention to the Captain.

“How long have you been living here, old man?”

It was the last thing the Captain expected for the man to
ask. Although he was surprised at the question, he didn’t hesitate to answer.
“About forty years.”

Shane stuck his free hand in his back pocket. He pulled out
two pieces of paper and meticulously began to unfold them. Looking them both
over, he handed just one of the papers to the Captain. It was a copy of one of
the newspaper articles he found while going through the old man’s stash. The
article was from the New York newspaper Shane first discovered in his father’s
hidden papers, reporting the mysterious disappearance of three-year-old T.J.
Kolakowski, of Sullivan County.

The Captain looked at the paper. Stunned, he turned to look
back at the man standing before him.

“Where did you get this?” The Captain questioned him,
grasping the paper in his hand. He had trouble holding his hand steady and made
an overt attempt to control the slight tremor. He wasn’t successful. The tremor
became worse and the Captain’s hand began to shake harder.

Feeling somewhat embarrassed and sensing he might be the
cause of the man’s nervous trembling; Shane took the paper back, intentionally
avoiding the Captain’s eyes.

“Do you know the kid in the picture? He used to live around
here, on this street. It says right there.” Holding the paper up, he pointed to
a line under the black and white photograph. “Did you know this kid?”

His answer was drowned out by the sound of the ringing phone
on the wall.

Before Marty even turned around, three patrol cars sans
sirens pulled up, responding to the call of a crime in progress. Chief Bergman,
Marty’s supervisor, was among the group, and after asking for an update, he
immediately informed Marty to remove himself from the equation.

“No fricken way! That’s my family in there.” Marty told him
in no uncertain terms.

“That’s exactly why, Marty.” Bergman scolded him, as if he
was a child. Chief Bergman was one of the few men in the squad who actually was
bigger than Marty. The man had played defensive guard for the New York Jets
twenty years ago and even with the added middle-age weight, he was no one Marty
wanted to mess with.

Jean looked at Marty, her eyes filled with sympathy, but
Marty knew she was agreeing with the chief.

“He’s right, Marty. We’re going to get them out safe, but
you need to let the chief handle this. I’m going to go to the hospital and
speak to his brother. Do you have a computer and Internet service in your dad’s
house? Hope’s got a smartphone, right? Maybe we can get a video connection set
up. Maybe the kid can speak to his brother and talk him down.”

She glanced over and caught sight of Marty’s neighbor, Mrs.
Kolakowski, who was nervously sitting in the kitchen, not knowing what the hell
was going on. Marty hadn’t had a chance to explain anything to her. The poor
woman was clueless.

“Does she know yet?” Jean turned to Marty.

“No, I was just about to tell her when you called.” Marty
didn’t know which way to look. He didn’t know what to do. He just wanted to do
something, instead of just standing there, helpless.

“Look, we’ll take her with us and we can tell her on the
way. Hopefully, we can convince Troy to talk to his brother and get him to come
out—and this can all end without anyone getting hurt.”

Marty looked over at Sanders, who was standing by Bergman
but listening to the conversation he was having with Jean. Sanders nodded in
Marty’s direction.

“She’s right, Keal. You need to get to the hospital and try
and get Troy to connect with Shane. If you set up a video call, then you’ll be
in a better situation to see for yourself how they are. I can try to speak to
Shane from this end. I know the kid. He knows me. If we can get him to pick up
the phone, I may be able to get him to come out. I think Troy is right, I
really don’t see this kid hurting someone.”

Marty looked up at him in disbelief. “He murdered his
father, he shot his own father.”

From under Sanders breath, Marty heard him reply. “It’s not
quite the same thing, Marty. His father was not an innocent victim.”

Shaking his head, Marty turned away from him. He had to
believe he was right.

Marty walked over to Mrs. K and put his hand on her
shoulder.

She looked up at him, her face a mask of confusion.

“Mrs. K, can you come with us? I will explain all of this.”

She didn’t say a word, but got up and out of the chair. She
followed them outside and Marty opened the passenger door of his unmarked car.
She was silent as Jean and Marty buckled their seatbelts and Jean gunned it,
taking off in the direction of the hospital.

Marty turned to look at her and he saw tears streaming down
her cheeks.

“Marty, tell me, please. What the HELL is going on?”